


Worst Nightmare

by Settiai



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Brothers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5469503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Settiai/pseuds/Settiai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His brother was going to die if Carver didn't do something fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worst Nightmare

Carver didn't notice the rogue that had slipped into his blind spot until it was too late. A hint of movement that he caught out of the corner of his eye was the only warning he had, and as soon as he saw it he knew that he was in trouble.

He braced himself and hoped that it would at least be fast.

There was a bright flash of light on the other side of the room, and the next thing Carver knew something heavy had hit him, shoving him out of the way. He looked up just in time to see the rogue shove a dagger in his brother's chest.

"No!"

Time seemed to go odd for a moment. Carver wasn't quite aware of what was happening. All he knew was that one moment he was on the ground, watching in shock as Garrett crumpled to the floor, and the next thing he knew he was standing over the rogue's body with blood quietly dripping from his sword.

Garrett.

Carver spun around, wasting a few precious moments looking around for any signs of movement, before all but throwing himself toward Garrett's side once he was certain the rest of their attackers were either dead or gone.

"Brother?"

Garrett blinked a few times before his mouth twisted into a grimace that, knowing him, was probably meant to be a grin. His hand was pressed against the wound on his chest, but he wasn't putting enough pressure on it to make any difference.

Carver reached out and put his hand on top of Garrett's, pressing down against the wound. He was trying not to panic at the amount of blood that was slipping through his fingers and pooling on the ground beneath them, but he knew that he wasn't doing a very good job at it.

"You need to heal yourself," Carver said urgently. "Garrett, do you hear me? You need to heal yourself _now_."

Garrett gave him a blood-tinged smile that didn't meet his eyes. "Can't," he said, his voice so slurred that Carver could barely understand him. "No mana."

Carver cursed. Of course he didn't have any mana. He didn't know what in the Maker's name Garrett had done to get across the room so quickly, to protect _him_ , but it must have used up everything he had left.

"Take a lyrium potion then," Carver hissed, trying to ignore the rush of panic and helplessness that was doing its best to overwhelm him.

Garrett didn't reply, but then he really didn't have to say anything. Carver could see it in his eyes. If he'd had any more lyrium potions left, he would have taken one already.

Anger rush through him out of nowhere, with such intensity that it was almost a physical ache. "What were you _thinking_?" Carver hissed at him. "You can't just—" He let out a sound that couldn't be described as anything but a growl. "Why?"

There was a long moment of silence.

"I couldn't lose you too," Garrett said quietly.

Just like that, Carver felt his anger fade away as quickly as it had come. He blinked a few times, trying to ignore the sudden burning he could feel at the corners of his eyes.

"I couldn't lose you too," Garrett repeated, his head lolling against Carver's shoulder. "Bethany died because of me, and I couldn't lose you too. Not because of me. I couldn't—"

His words trailed off as he went limp, slumping forward.

Carver felt his heart skip a beat. "Garrett?" he whispered, not even trying to keep his voice from trembling. "Garrett?"

Garrett didn't stir. His chest was still rising and falling with every breath, but Carver could hear how labored it had gotten just over the past few minutes.

He was going to die if Carter didn't do something fast.

*

Looking back, Carver wasn't entirely certain how he made it to Darktown. His memories were disjointed, a flash here and there.

He remembered ripping his shirt, using it to make a makeshift bandage and tie it as tightly against Garrett's injury as he could manage. He remembered struggling to pick Garrett up off the ground, his body a dead weight in Carver's arms. He remembered running, stumbling around corners and barking at people to get out of his way.

How long it took, he had no idea. Too long. Any time at all was too long.

The door to Anders's clinic was shut when he got there, the lantern blown out. It wasn't surprising, considering the hour.

Carver didn't let that stop him. He shifted Garrett in his arms, adjusting his weight, and then he kicked the door. Hard. When that didn't do anything, he kicked it again. And again. And again.

Inside, there was a loud crash as if someone was stumbling in the dark. There was swearing on the other side of the door, a mixture of Trade and something else, guttural and unfamiliar that Carver didn't think he'd ever heard before.

Then the door suddenly flung open. Anders stood in the doorway, blue cracks in his skin and an otherworldly light pouring from him as he raised his staff.

Carver probably should have been worried. Even Garrett didn't trust the spirit or demon or whatever in the Void it was making a home inside Anders. The only emotion he could drum up just then, though, was complete and utter relief that the healer was _there_.

"Help him," Carver choked out.

The cracks in Anders's skin faded away as if they had never been there, his eyes going wide as their color shifted from an otherworldly blue to their normal honey brown. He brought his staff down, letting it drop to the clinic's floor as he all but threw himself forward.

"What happened?" he asked, wrapping his arms around Garrett and taking at least some of his weight off of Carver as they stumbled toward the nearest cot.

"Stab wound," Carver said, his voice cracking slightly. "In the chest. A fucking rogue got in my blind spot, and—"

He trailed off as Anders nodded, understanding flashing across his face. His hands were already lighting up, and Carver could practically feel the magic pouring from him. Years of watching his siblings train with their father had given him enough awareness to know when magic was being used, even if he didn't have magic himself.

"Go sit down," Anders said, his eyes darting in Carver's direction for a moment before moving back to focus on Garrett. There was something on his face, in his eyes even, that Carver couldn't quite read. "This is going to take a while."

Carver shook his head. "I'd rather stand."

Anders's gaze drifted back over to him again. "That wasn't a suggestion," he said, his voice firmer than before. For the first time since they'd met him, Carver could actually believe that he was a Grey Warden.

There wasn't really anything to say. Carver sat down.

*

Carver hadn't meant to fall asleep, but apparently he did. Awareness returned slowly as he drifted back to consciousness.

Then his memories kicked in and he sat straight up, almost causing the cot he had curled up on to tip over.

A few feet away, Anders straightened up and glanced over at him. He was sitting beside Garrett, his hand resting on his too-still form.

Carver swallowed. "Is he—?"

He couldn't finish the question. He didn't want to finish the question. Just saying the words would make it real, and Carver wasn't certain he was ready to deal with that. Not yet.

"He'll be fine," Anders said gently.

Carver let out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.

He stood up, grimacing a little as his entire body protested. He'd pushed it too far, carrying Garrett as far as he had, but he couldn't quite force himself to feel upset about it.

Oh, he knew that the anger would come. The bitterness. It always came, since Ostagar. Garrett would say something that would rub Carver the wrong way, he'd snap back at him, and the next thing he knew they'd be exchanging harsh looks and harsher words even though Carver honestly didn't _want_ to be fighting.

_"I couldn't lose you too."_

Carver walked over to the cot Garrett was laying on, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to rest his hand on his brother's shoulder. Garrett was quiet and still in a way that he never was, not even in sleep. He was usually a restless sleeper, muttering and turning from side to side as he slept.

It was wrong to see him like this.

Beside him, Anders shifted. Carver glanced over at him.

"He's going to be fine, Carver," Anders repeated, and that knowing look was on his face again. As if he could read Carver's face like a book and knew his every thought.

Carver looked back down at Garrett. "I know," he agreed tiredly. Quietly. "He always is."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me over on Tumblr. (http://settiai.tumblr.com/)


End file.
